


i'm unashamed, i'm gonna show my scars

by cringeonmain



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Pre-Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Questionable Use of Punctuation, Self-Esteem Issues, Set during S3, a bit of pining, as a treat, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cringeonmain/pseuds/cringeonmain
Summary: When Martin accidentally summons Gerard Keay, they bond over their deep-seated maternal issues and a mutual appreciation for a certain Head Archivist, and Martin allows himself a sliver of hope.Or; what would've happened if Jon had asked Martin to burn Gerry's page on his behalf.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89





	i'm unashamed, i'm gonna show my scars

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:  
> \- strong themes of emotional abuse/mentions of abuse (regarding martin's family and mary keay)  
> \- discussion and themes of death/canon character death (gerry keay)  
> \- brief references to canon-typical gore  
> \- very brief suicide ideation  
> \- a whole bunch of self-esteem issues and spiralling  
> \- brief mention of blood and brief mention of vomit  
> but, don't fret, it's milder than it sounds, and is framed in a hopeful, comforting light (at least, to me)
> 
> major spoilers for all of season 1, 2 and 3!!
> 
> set in season 3, starting just before MAG 117, through til 118.

Martin's legs wobbled, as the door to Jon's office creaked open. The space inside was currently bereft of life, but cluttered, obviously indicating the room had been _thoroughly_ lived in. Martin shook his head at the dark lipstick stains on the stale-smelling mug Jon had abandoned on his desk. Despite it all, Martin found it weirdly endearing; this room was proof that Jon Sims was alive, that he was human, that he had a heart! But, now wasn't the time for that, because Martin Blackwood had a job to do.

Tentatively, Martin sat down at the desk and picked up the blood-splattered page Jon had left out for him, before immediately dropping it in disgust. The page's thick, leathery texture made him reflexively recoil, like he'd accidentally touched a week-old piece of food in the sink. 

He shouldn't've been surprised, really: it wasn't as if the page _looked_ appealing. The page was a sickly, pale white, like the colour of your face after vomiting, or the colour of a newly embalmed corpse. Again, that was to be expected; the page _was_ made from the skin of a dead person, afterall. The skin of Gerard Keay. 

He had known about Gerard Keay for a while; his name had popped up in a number of statements, and Martin had always assumed that he was a bad guy, a villain- _a murderer_. That was certainly the case with most of the recurring characters in the statements. 

But, when Jon returned from the States, Martin noticed that he'd begun referring to Gerard with the affectionate nickname 'Gerry', and talking about him with a resigned sadness in his voice, as if he were an old friend.

Jon had very briefly explained what had happened on his impromptu holiday, but seemed unwilling to elaborate on most of the details, especially those regarding his supposed conversation with Gerard Keay. It's not as if Jon's reluctance to open up was a new thing, but that didn't explain how he had gone from treating Gerard as another faceless evil, to someone that he truly cared about. 

Perhaps that was why Jon had asked Martin to burn the page on his behalf: he cared about 'Gerry' too much to kill him- again. But Martin couldn't help but feel that there was something else; Jon never asked him for help, so there had to be another reason! What was so difficult about destroying a measly page from a book? 

Well, in Martin's case, it was simple. The page looked and felt gross- plus he couldn't just forget that there was a real, human person trapped in that page, albeit a real, _dead_ , human person. He assured himself that he wouldn't be ending someone's life; Gerard's life had already ended. 

But, maybe that was just it; Jon knew 'Gerry' personally and he just couldn't bring himself to kill someone that he so clearly cared about. Still, it didn't make any sense why Jon would go to _Martin_ for help.

A small part of him had been secretly pleased when Jon approached him for help- and not just because he really liked to burn things. Realistically, Martin knew it was probably just because the others were unavailable, but he couldn't help but feel a little bit special, honoured that Jon actually trusted him. He felt bad about being so happy to carry out the errand for Jon. For one, burning the disgusting remains of a human soul wasn't exactly a lovely task, and two, that was literally Martin's job: to assist Jon.

No matter the reason or motive for Jon's trusting him to burn Gerard Keay's page, Martin was hardly gonna let him down, no matter how queasy the job made him feel. 

Once again, Martin picked up the page, this time bracing himself for the shiver that it would inevitably send down his spine. He reached his trembling hand for the lighter that Jon had left for him but, before he could set the page alight, yet another reservation flew into his mind. Would it smell? The skin had long since dried, but the smell of burning human flesh was not pleasant one- Martin knew that from experience. 

Sighing, he placed the page and the lighter back on the desk, and tried to level his breathing. He had to do this. He had to! If he couldn't even do this, there was no way he would be able to successfully carry out his plan to get Elias arrested. 

But, at least that was _his_ plan. Burning Gerard's page wasn't something Martin had volunteered to do himself; it was just one more thing he was doing for Jon. Either way, it was a challenge, a test, another small chance to prove that he had it in him- not to Jon, but to himself. 

Martin gulped. He was going to do it. He was. But first...

A morbid curiosity poked at Martin.

From what he could tell, the pages of the Skin Book were created by writing the description of a victim's death on their back, removing the skin, and then leaving it to dry. Personally, Martin preferred the more traditional paperback (or, if he was feeling especially daring, a hardback) and the thought of Gertrude Robinson maiming Gerard Keay- evil murderer or not- filled Martin with an intense nausea. But it also filled him with an intense desire to read the thing...

He should've known it was a bad idea- in fact, he _did_ know it was a bad idea- but Martin couldn't help himself and, with a newfound resolve, he picked up the page once more.

The text was messy, scrawled in a desperate cursive, with a crimson liquid Martin _really_ hoped was ink. But, it was, much to Martin's slightly sick joy, legible enough to understand. 

Now, it could've been a primal, supernatural urge, or it could've been a force of habit from reading statements- or it could've been plain stupidity- but Martin began to read the statement out loud.

_"His consciousness faded in and out like the tide. He tried to refuse their drugs, though for what purpose, even he could not have said. Perhaps he was simply trying to push away the smell of disinfectant and grief that rose from his hospital bed. She was there sometimes-- the one he had followed around the world. There was almost sadness in her eyes._

_"He felt himself begin to slip, the icy certainty of what was happening seeping through his flesh and, as he fell away for the final time, he felt that all consuming fear, and his only thought was to cry out for his mother. But with the last vestige of his stubborn will, he refused. She would not claim his last moment. He was silent._

_"And so, Gerard Keay, ended,"_ Martin choked back his tears. 

He tried to tell himself it was due to some powerful, supernatural force, but, deep down, he knew why he was crying. He _related_ to Gerard. He felt a strange connection to him, to this long-dead, potentially evil, man that he had never met. 

Martin wiped his tears with his sleeve. He had no reason to feel sorry for this man- this _murderer_ ! So what if he had a shitty mum? Lots of people have shitty mums and _don't_ kill them! 

"That bastard," Gerard said, shocking Martin out of his teary state.

Martin screamed, clutching the lighter, and waving it towards Gerard, as if a measly little flame would be any defense against an evil ghost murderer. 

"He promised he would burn the page… he promised he would _free_ me--" Gerard looked up to notice Martin's trembling figure threatening him with Jon's web lighter. "Oh. You're not- who are you?"

Martin paused. The ghost, who he assumed was Gerard Keay, didn't _seem_ malicious. Although, then again, neither did Not-Sasha, and she- _it_ \- had turned out to be very malicious indeed.

But, there was something in Gerard's voice when he said the word 'free', something that almost sounded like… longing- something that not only made Gerard appear Not Evil, but something that sounded… _alive_. 

"Gerard Keay?" Martin asked.

"No, you're not," Gerard laughed. "I'm Gerard Keay, yeah, but I asked who you were."

"Oh! Uh, I'm Martin. Martin Blackwood," he automatically offered his hand as a polite greeting, before he could realise how utterly stupid that was. 

Gerard stared at his extended arm, with an amused smirk. 

"As nice as it is to meet you, Martin, I, uh, don't think that's gonna work. I don't exactly have a physical form," Gerard said. 

Martin flushed and backed away, subconsciously putting the lighter, his only weapon, back on the desk.

"Right, yeah, of course. Sorry… Um, this is, awkward," Martin chuckled nervously. Why was he acting as if Gerard was some normal guy, not an evil ghost murderer? This was _not_ normal. _He_ was not normal! He should be screaming for help right now! 

"Yeah, well, I don't really get to talk to a lot living, breathing humans, being trapped in this eternally painful soul prison, so excuse me if my social skills are a bit rusty," Gerard said, earning another nervous chuckle from Martin. 

Apparently that was his primary form of communication now: nervous chuckling.

"I don't suppose you know a Jon Sims?" Gerard asked. "Because he promis- we had a deal and, if he's around, I'd like to ask him why he hasn't honoured it." 

"I- Yes! I do know Jon Sims. He's my," Martin paused for a moment too long. "Boss."

If he wasn't in the presence of an evil ghost murderer, Martin would've slapped himself. _'Boss'_ ? _Really_?

"Friend," Martin corrected.

"Sure… So, do you know where he is then?"

"If only! He doesn't tell me anything."

"Huh. Shame, because I really wanted to have a _chat_ with him."

Martin's eyes narrowed. Sure, Gerard seemed nice enough (When had he started calling evil ghost murderers 'nice'? When had his life come to this?) but he was still a supernatural being- one that was probably a murderer, and now one that had just threatened Jon.

"About what?" Martin asked, trying to sound a lot less scared than he felt. 

"Like I said, we had a deal. He said he'd burn me- the page, in exchange for some information. Which, by the way, I gave him. So it's time he held up his end of the bargain. Didn't you say he was your friend? Didn't he tell you all this?"

"Some of it, yeah," Martin looked Gerard in the eye, his wistful expression sending a pang through Martin's heart. He remembered the sense of connection he'd felt when he'd read the page, the odd sadness that had tugged at his soul, and had not stopped tugging since. Something was telling him to trust Gerard and, despite his somewhat tumultuous track record of blindly trusting scrawny goth men, Martin made the decision to listen. He _trusted_ this evil ghost murderer. 

"I don't know where Jon is, but he asked me to burn the page for him. He hasn't… _betrayed_ you, if that's what you're thinking. He wouldn't- he, uh, he has every intention of burning yo- the page. I just think it's… difficult for him," Martin said. 

"Difficult? You know what's difficult? Being trapped in an eternally painful soul prison."

"Yeah, I can imagine- well, I can't, but- I think… it would make him sad."

"What?"

"I don't really know what happened in America- as I said, he doesn't tell me anything- but, I know that he… cares about you. And I think he finds it difficult, having to 'kill' someone he cares about, no matter how painful their soul prison is. He's only human," Martin flushed as he looked at the decidedly Not Human man in front of him. 

Once again, Martin found himself relating to Gerard. The mildly embarrassed, yet quietly pleased, expression on Gerard's face eerily mirrored his own whenever Jon was mentioned. If Gerard didn't have the complexion of a pantomime vampire, Martin wouldn't've been surprised to see him blush. Martin watched as Gerard slowly composed himself, and the tired sadness returned to his eyes. 

"If only that were true, Martin," Gerard sighed, scratching his head. "But I think it's a lot less… _poignant_ than that."

"What do you mean?" 

"You see, I know a lot of stuff. Not to brag or anything, but I do. I've seen a lot of shit, gained a lot of… knowledge, during my time on this earth. And Jon- or rather, _The Archivist_? He knows this. He's not upset because he's 'killing someone he cares about', he's upset because he's destroying 3 decades worth of knowledge."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." 

"Well, why don't you give it to him? The knowledge, I mean?" 

"Eternally painful soul prison, remember," Gerard said. "I wish I could, to be honest. I wish things were different. That I could, I don't know- stay in this page and 'give Jon knowledge' or whatever. Or, even better yet, not be dead! But, well, it hurts. It hurts so much. And the longer I'm here, the worse it gets. The more I remember the endless string of pain that was my mortal life, the more I remember the horrific amounts of pain my mum caused- that _I_ let happen- it's… it's too much."

"I'm sorry, Gerard," Martin said, but he felt his sympathy was an empty offering. Despite the unusual empathy he felt towards Gerard, he couldn't begin to comprehend his pain. Martin's mum may've made some mistakes- she may even be a horrible person- but Martin knew the extent of Mary Keay's atrocities, and he couldn't imagine what it was like to be her son.

"Yeah. Although, for the record, I think I was a bit harsh on Jon. He did seem to care. About me? I don't know about that. But he did care, at least, and that's more than I can say for most people in this business. Again, I do think he was more concerned with the destruction of precious secrets, but his heart is in the right place," Gerard said. "Still pissed at him though. He's taken way too long to burn me. And asking you to do it, too? Bastard."

"Yeah... Yeah. Well, I shouldn't keep you," Martin cursed at himself. He had been remarkably casual throughout the whole affair, but ending the conversation as if he was ending a normal phone call with a normal friend- as if he wasn't about to _kill_ the man- seemed a bit rude. "I think it's time you broke free of that eternally painful flesh prison, right?"

With the wordless sense of agreement that had bubbled under their entire interaction, Martin prepared himself to dismiss Gerard for a final time.

But, just as he opened his mouth to say the words, his phone rang. 

"Uh, wait, sorry, I've got to take this," Martin gestured at Gerard to be quiet, once again cursing at his shockingly casual behaviour. Gerard nodded and Martin turned to take the call.

"Hey. Hi. Is everything alright?" Panic began to rise in Martin's chest; it was his mum's nursing home. Had her illness taken a turn for the worse? Was she lying helplessly in a body bag whilst he chatted nonchalantly with a ghost? 

"Yes, Mr Blackwood, everything's fine, we just need you to confirm a few things for us."

Martin's heart sank with an emotion resembling relief. No, not relief- _disappointment_.

If his mother was dead, perhaps he'd be able spend his well-earned money on something he wanted to, not something he was obliged to, like a new car, or a holiday. If his mother was dead, he could sleep easy knowing that the source of all his trauma, the root of all his insecurities, couldn't harm him anymore.

He was _disappointed_ that his mum wasn't dead and he despised himself for it. 

Martin fought down bile as he monotonously answered the receptionist's questions. 

It would be so much easier if his mum died and, after all she did to him, she deserved it! 

Martin's own thought process sickened him. He definitely considered his mum to be a horrible human being, but wishing she was dead? Martin was no better than the woman who raised him- arguably, he was worse. He resented the resentment he felt towards her- it wasn't right, she had brought him into the world!

He _knew_ that she'd had a tough life, and his birth didn't make it any easier, so he also knew it wasn't her fault. Not really. It was Martin's fault for being born, or his father's fault for walking out.

As a child, Martin daydreamed about how things would've been different if his father was a kind man, if he'd loved his mother. But as an adult, those dreams were just that: dreams. Martin wished more than anything that loving someone would make them happy, that love could solve everything, but he knew now that it was simply untrue. 

Even if love could solve everything, there was nothing Martin could do to change the fact his father had walked out, and that his mother had taken it out on him for all his life. 

Martin got it. She treated Martin with the same level of respect life had treated her with, and he got it, despite his inherent disagreement with that attitude. He had never understood the 'fight fire with fire' mentality; if you were upset with the amount of bad in the world, you should try your hardest to counter it, to do as much good as possible. Hurting other people wasn't going to make your own pain any less painful.

Lord, he was a hypocrite. If he believed so strongly that hatred spawned more hatred, why was he wasting time hating his mother?

Over the years, Martin had come to understand his mum's reasons for filling his childhood with so much pain, and he had accepted early on that having his teen years ripped away to care for her was his duty as family. But he still didn't understand why she continued to hurt him.

He had fought so hard to keep her in his life- to keep her _alive_ \- but she fought harder to keep him away. 

He didn't deserve this; he was a nice person! Or, at least, that's what everyone thought.

What would his colleagues think- what would _Jon_ think- if they knew he'd wished death upon his own mother? They would hate him: hatred, once again, spawning more hatred. They'd definitely feel betrayed, just like Martin's mum when her husband walked out. They wouldn't want him around anymore, they'd push him away, shut him out: just like his mother refusing to see him, refusing to love him, refusing to want him. 

Although, perhaps that was already true. 

Jon didn't want him now, and Jon wouldn't want him ever, no matter how much Martin longed for him to cure his pain with love. Martin had to face the facts: he was unlovable.

And he was alone.

Except...

"Goodbye, yeah, bye," Martin said, hanging up the phone. He looked across at Gerard, expecting him to be angry, but he was just gazing at Martin with a mix of confusion and pity.

"Who was that?"

"My mum's nursing home," Martin felt like even more of a dickhead, mentioning his mum, when Gerard's own mother was a deranged murderer.

"Oh. Is she… alright?" Gerard asked.

"Yeah."

"Hm. That's good."

"Is it?" Martin asked, his laugh bordering on manic. "Because I'll tell you something, Gerard. I wished she wasn't alright. When they called, I thought the worst and, when they told me she was alright, I was _disappointed_ . I wished she was _dead_ , Gerard, I wished she was dead!"

Gerard continued to look at Martin with that sad, understanding, expression: the same one Martin had been looking at him with, before the phone call.

"I don't actually want her to die. I don't. I just- it would be easier, wouldn't it? Was it easier, when your mum died?" 

"No," Gerard laughed. "My mum haunted me in a demon book for 5 years after she died."

"Oh, shit, right. Sorry! I, uh, forgot."

"Nah, it's fine. And… I don't know, honestly. Sure, it was nice to not have her _literal_ ghost following me everywhere, but her _metaphorical_ ghost will never leave me." 

"No…" Martin wondered whether it would be nice, to be fully dead, to be free of his mother's memory, like Gerard so desperately craved. Shit, he was spiralling again.

"I'm sorry, by the way, for springing this on you. Can't catch a break, even in death, can you? I don't know. Something about talking with you, knowing what you've been through, then getting the call from the home; it triggered something in me." 

"No, I get it," Gerard assured him and Martin knew, wholeheartedly, that he was telling the truth. "To be honest, talking to you triggered something in me, too. Same with talking to Jon. It makes me wonder what my life could've been like, if I had friends. I had Gertrude, I suppose, but I wouldn't really consider her a friend: more a really bossy aunt, or something. But, there's no point dwelling on the what ifs. I'm dead now, there's no changing that. And I'm _about_ to be dead again."

"Well, Gerard, you might be dead, but there is one thing you have now," Martin smiled. "A friend."

Gerard beamed at him, his smile even brighter than the shy smile he had witnessed earlier, when he'd told him that Jon cared. Martin couldn't help but smile back. 

"Call me Gerry. That's uh, what my friends call me."

"Oh! So that's why Jon calls you Gerry- that makes sense," Martin said. "I suppose you have 2 friends, then."

"Yeah," Gerry laughed. "You're lucky, you know. I'd kill to have a friend like him."

A flash of alarm must've spread across Martin's face, because Gerry laughed again.

"Not literally! I'm not even sure I could do any physical harm in this body."

"Good. You had me worried for a second. I thought you were gonna turn into some evil ghost murderer."

"Evil gho- no, definitely not. Not taking after my mother on that one."

Martin sighed, the topic of conversation already back on their shared maternal issues. 

"I'm scared that I'll take after her," Martin admitted. 

"You're scared you'll take after my mother?"

"No, I meant my mu-- oh, shut up, Gerry," Martin laughed in spite of it all. He completely understood why Jon struggled to burn the page now. It was selfish, but Martin wanted to keep Gerry around. On some level, Martin knew that Gerry was right about Jon's hunger for knowledge, but he also knew that there's no way that Jon would want to end the life of his friend- a second time. 

"You're a good person, Martin," Gerry said. "And you're your own person, too. You don't have to take after her if you don't want to. I wish that I'd had the chance to realise that whilst I was alive, to realise that I don't have to live in her shadow. But I don't have that chance. _You_ do, though."

"Am I a good person though, _really_?" 

"To be honest, I don't know if I'm the person to judge that. I've done some really shitty things. But- I feel like I know you well enough to say you're a good person," Gerard said. "Fuck, I've only known you, what, half an hour, and I feel like I've known you years."

"I know what you mean," Martin said. And he did.

The pair held eye contact for a few long, comfortable seconds, before Gerry sighed.

"I should be, yknow, heading out, so… say hi to Jon for me."

Martin froze. He was selfish. He was a selfish, attention-seeking dickhead, but something- perhaps the same something that drew him to Gerry in the first place- compelled him to open up.

"I lied!" Martin confessed. "Me and Jon aren't friends. He really is just my boss- at _best_ , just my boss."

"Okay?" Gerry laughed. "Although, I find that hard to believe. You seem like the kinda guy that people would be friends with."

"Really? I- uh, maybe. Not Jon, though. Jon doesn't- Jon doesn't care about me, I-I know that. It's fine though, I'm used t-"

"Mate," Gerard said. "I don't know, exactly, what the deal is with you and Jon, and, frankly, I don't want to know. But, as you said, Jon cares, and I find it very hard to believe he doesn't care about you too. 

"I've had a lot of time to think, trapped in this eternally painful soul prison, and I've come to realize a few things. The hurt that our parents cause us, it changes us, and stays with us until the day we die- _after_ then, in my case. 

"We can do all we want to wish away that pain, but it's just not gonna happen. Those scars are permanent, and they run deep. The only thin silver lining that we can grasp onto is that _it's a part of us._ Our parents, whether we like it or not, made us who we are. Where would you be if your mother was 'nice' and 'normal'? Who would you be? What would you have missed out on?"

Martin contemplated this. If his mother hadn't gotten sick, he never would've joined the institute, he never would've met Sasha, or Tim, or Jon. Sure, the institute had caused him a lot more unnecessary pain; he'd lost Sasha, all but lost Tim, and never really had Jon in the first place. But, would he have preferred it? To never have loved, to never have lost, to never have his life touched by these amazing people? Of course not! He was a poet, afterall, and, as a poet, an optimist, a hopeless romantic, he knew it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. It was better to have been hurt, and to have grown from it, than to never have the chance to be a better person. 

"Exactly," Gerry smiled, as if reading Martin's mind. Martin wouldn't've been surprised if he was. "These scars, they're part of us, and we need to learn to love them. I _don't_ mean your parents; you are _not_ obligated to forgive them, _lord,_ _please_ know that. But you should forgive yourself. Those scars on your heart, I see them and, I'm not gonna lie, they're ugly, and they're painful- but they're you.

"I know I said that _we_ need to love our scars but, well, I'm going soon- if you guys actually let me leave- so do me a favour: learn to love your scars. If not for yourself, for me. Let other people love them, too. Let other people care for them, as I'm sure they do. There's gonna be people out there that think your scars- and you- are beautiful. 

"Just let yourself live because, I'll tell you now, dying sucks. Knowing that I'll never get the chance to do the things I've always wanted, to have the friends I've always wanted- but you do. You have that chance, so, please, lord, take it. It's the least you can do after keeping me around for so long."

Once again, Martin looked into Gerry's sad, tired eyes, and saw there was something else in them: _hope_ \- hope for Martin. Hope that Martin would live and love and do all the things that Gerry couldn't, because of the shackles his mother had bestowed upon him. 

"I- I dismiss you."

As Gerry faded into nothingness, Martin wondered if he would ever feel the connection that he'd felt with him again.

Gerry's words echoed in his head, grounding him: someone, one day, would find Martin's scars beautiful. And who was he to argue with an evil ghost murderer?

The door to Jon's office creaked open, revealing the man himself slouched over his desk, scribbling intently. In one hand, Martin clutched a mug of tea and, in the other hand, a page made of skin. 

In the end, Martin couldn't bring himself to do it, to burn Gerry's page. As much as assisting Jon was his job, killing Gerry was not his obligation. Destroying Gerry's page kind of felt like Martin was destroying a part of himself, and he was done destroying himself to please others.

"Martin! Hi! Come in!" Jon welcomed Martin into his office, which was somehow even filthier than it was the last time he saw it.

"Hey, Jon, here's your tea."

"Thank you. So, how did it go with- Oh," Jon's gaze fell upon the page in Martin's hand.

"It went well, actually," Martin said, head held high. He'd learnt a lot about himself from that experience and, even though that wasn't what Jon meant, he was trying not to care too much. 

"I- uh, but-" Jon Sims, for once, was at a loss for words. "You didn't burn the page."

"No. And I'm not going to," Martin said. "It's not my responsibility, Jon."

Jon chewed his lip, brow furrowed, deep in thought. Martin found it weirdly endearing. 

He sighed; clearly his decision to stand up to Jon didn't do anything to subdue his affections. 

"Alright then. Okay, that's alright," Jon said, taking the page from Martin.

"I- uh- really?" Martin stuttered.

"Yes. It was wrong of me to ask that of you in the first place. I'm.. aware that it's a grim task. So, I'm sorry," Jon said. "Although… can I ask… why?"

"I spoke with him."

"You... spoke with Gerry?" 

"Yeah, I spoke with Gerry," Martin was over the moon to be sharing the affectionate nickname with Jon. It would've made Gerry so happy, and, in all honesty, it made Martin happy.

"I… alright. And… how did that go?"

"It went well," Martin smiled. "He's a good person. He deserved so much better and he- he really cared about you, you know?"

Maybe it was selfish of Martin, to be projecting so shamelessly, but he hoped Gerry wouldn't mind. Plus, it's not like he was lying: Gerry did care about Jon, and Martin had the chance to give him the friendship Gerry couldn't.

"I think you were the first person to show him any form of affection."

It seemed funny, somehow, describing Jonathan Sims as 'affectionate' but, in the context of Gerry's lonely life, it was true. And, as rare as they were, Jon's warm smiles did _feel_ affectionate.

"Yes- I- yes. It wasn't his fault. He didn't choose to be born to Mary Keay. He didn't deserve that. He… deserved a normal life," Jon said. 

"What's normal, eh?" Martin smiled.

"Yes… good question," Jon smiled back. "Would you, though, if you had the chance to live a 'normal' life? Would you go back? Never join the institute? Never get involved in all… this?"

"Funny you should ask that… Me and Gerry talked about the same thing."

Jon raised an eyebrow. 

"And… I don't know, Jon. I made my choices- we all did- and there's no going back now."

"But it's caused you so much pai-"

Martin could've burst from holding in the laughter: how deeply ironic this whole conversation was turning out to be!

"Pain makes us who we are, Jon," Martin said. "Besides, if I never joined the institute, I never would've met you."

If Martin didn't know any better, he would've said that the deep crimson that spread across Jon's cheeks somewhat resembled a blush. 

"-or Tim! Or Sasha! Or the others!" Martin added, after slightly too long staring at Jon's Not-Blush. 

"I… I suppose not," Jon smiled, as Martin turned to leave, to save himself any further humiliation. "For the record… I- I want you… I want you to know that I'd, uh, I'd be… sad, if I'd never got the chance to meet you."

Martin listened to the door click shut behind him. As he tried to regulate his breathing, he thought about Gerry, who never did get the chance to meet Jon- at least, whilst he was alive- and he was determined to give the man enough love for the both of them.

Throughout that day, Martin consistently found his thoughts wondering to Gerry, and those 'what ifs' he had tried so hard to push out of his mind. 

As he recorded his personal statement, before his colleagues headed into their likely doom, Martin speculated: what if Gerry had known Jon whilst he was alive? Would he have also felt this powerful desperation to insure his safety? Would he have also cried himself to sleep, yearning for his embrace?

Martin knew it was unfair for him to project his insecurities onto Gerry, but it made his feelings easier to decipher, by putting them into the context of someone else's life. Even the context of someone else's tragically unlived life.

As he watched Tim drive out of the institute car park for a final time, Martinfelt the loneliness that Gerry had experienced throughout his entire life. He wondered if Gerry and Tim would've been friends; they seemed to have a similar sense of humour. Or, at least, they did at one point, before all the humour in Tim's heart abandoned him, to make room for the anger that now consumed his soul. 

As he briefed Melanie on the plan, he wondered if she and Gerry would've gotten on. Perhaps it was shallow to decide that they would've been friends solely based on their alternative dress sense, but it was more than that; both of them felt rejected from society. Gerry had died believing that no one in the real world would understand him, and Martin seriously hoped that Melanie wouldn't spend her whole life feeling like an outsider.

As he burned the statements, Martin mourned Gerry, who's page Jon had burned just a few hours prior, who's consciousness no longer existed in this world. 

As Elias dug into his soul, pushing and prodding and prying into the most painful parts of his psyche, Martin clung to the comforting words Gerry had told him. No matter how excruciating the thoughts Elias shoved into Martin's mind were, he remembered that it wasn't his fault. He remembered that he was a good person, and there were people that loved him, that there were people that wanted him, and he stood his ground.

As he, with the last ounce of his energy, persuaded Melanie not to go after Elias, Martin considered the fact Gerry never got a chance to taste true freedom.

Martin was going to do everything in his power to taste it- for his friends to taste it- again. 

At least he had the chance. He had the chance to live, to love, to be free.

Martin had all the time in the world to learn to love his scars, to be proud of them.

Maybe love couldn't change the past, maybe love couldn't make the people around him happy, but, love could ease the pain, if only a little bit. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in the space of 6 hours yesterday and it's my first tma fic so it's probably horrifically ooc and borderline incoherent. sorry. it's projection-ception, babey! me projecting onto martin projecting onto gerry-  
> big ups to mr jonny sims, as i stole the whole description of gerry's death directly from MAG 111.  
> yes, the title is from welcome to the black parade, to honour my favouritefunky emo man.  
> soohia: if you're reading this, ty for introducing me to tma, ily, but don't you DARE comment on the grammar.  
> same for anyone else reading this: it's MY vent fic and I get to create entirely new grammar rules.  
> but, if you didn't find it utterly incoherent, lmk <3


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